


Dark Chocolate and White Cream

by DracoGinny5ever



Category: Michael Phelps - Fandom, Olympics RPF, Phlochte - Fandom, Pholt, Running - Fandom, Ryan Lochte - Fandom, Swimming RPF, Team USA - Fandom, Usain Bolt - Fandom, track - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoGinny5ever/pseuds/DracoGinny5ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disgusted with his former lover’s behavior in Rio, Michael Phelps looks to an athlete outside of swimming to satisfy his sexual needs.  Michael Phelps/Usain Bolt (Pholt) with lingering scenes of Phlochte.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Chocolate and White Cream

  **Chapter One: The Breakup**

 

_Ryan Lochte on Rio Incident - I exaggerated that story… Lochte Says Gun Being Pointed at His Head ‘Didn’t Happen’… Rio Robbery Scandal: USOC Says Further Action Is Coming._

Michael threw the tabloids down in disgust, irritated beyond belief that he had allowed himself to fall for the bullshit Ryan had been spouting since the night of the ‘robbery.’ 

“He came up to me with a gun, babe.  I swear it,” Ryan had slurred upon arriving at Michael’s room on the night in question, drunk, defiant, and nearly four hours later than Michael was expecting him.  “They were speaking Spanish or Brazilian or some shit.  I have no idea what they wanted.  They wouldn’t let us leave until we gave them money.”

Michael listened intently, his hand covering his mouth in horror at Ryan’s harrowing tale. 

Pulling Ryan tightly into a strong embrace, Michael ran his fingers through the short, tousled hair spouting a ridiculously bleached look that he so hated.  He let out a long sigh.  

“I only wish I had been there to protect you.  I’ll never forgive myself for not keeping you safe.” 

Lochte shifted his gaze guiltily from one side to another, whispering a muffled “jeah” into Michael’s shoulder.  

“I would have been here on time.  If it weren’t for the robbery and all that.  You know that, don’t you babe?”  

Michael nodded gently in response. 

“Those other guys are just my friends.  We weren’t on our way to have an orgy in the French house or anything.  I just wanted to get home to you.”  Lochte’s beautiful sky blue eyes fixed Michael with their most gorgeous, most pleading gaze.    

  
And being the good boyfriend he was, Michael believed him. 

But the evidence that came to light in the days following the incident gave even Lochte's most fervent supporters reason to pause.  In the beginning, Michael found it curious.  Curious, though not all together implausible, that a group of Brazilian street thugs would have stripped Ryan of a couple hundred dollars cash without bothering to grab his phone, watch, or priceless American passport.  He also found it somewhat suspicious that despite Lochte's near brush with death in a foreign country, his attitude seemed defiant.  Even cocky.   

Then came the surveillance tape, and not a moment too soon.  Americans worldwide fumed at what had apparently been a night of drunken bro-vado gone wrong, and Michael fumed with them.  Not because of the supposed vandalism that may or may not have occurred that night, but because Ryan Lochte had lied.  Not just to his fans or his family, but to him.  

Michael sighed as he pulled out his iPad, dreading what he was about to do but knowing that it had to be done.  His finger hovered over the screen, hesitating for a split second before opening the Skype icon with a resounding double tap. 

As promised, Ryan was online and waiting for him.  Michael clicked the video call icon and in seconds, they were connected.  

If Michael hadn't been so angry, he would have almost felt sorry for Lochte.  His formerly white-blonde, greenish tinged mane had returned to its natural color, but his eyes, normally so brilliant, looked exhausted and pained.  There was no hint of humor in his usually cheeky face, and his trademark smirk was replaced with a scowl. 

"Hey babe," he mumbled.  His voice sounded hoarse, as if perhaps he had been shouting.  Or crying.  

Whatever the case, he had certainly had a rough few days.  But now was not the time for sympathy.  

"Hello, Ryan," Michael offered in steely response.  "I know this must be a hard time for you right now, and I understand how this will make what I have to say that much harder." 

"Hold up, hold up!  Ryan interrupted, his brow furrowing in concern.  "Don't tell me they robbed you, too?!" 

_Lord, if that man didn’t have the looks of an Adonis, but the brains of a tadpole_.  

Michael shook his head and went on. 

"Fortunately, no.  I haven't been robbed.  But I haven't been lying about being robbed to my family, either.  Or my boyfriend." He added pointedly. 

Ryan shifted uncomfortably.  "I wasn't trying to lie to you, babe.  I mean, _maybe_ I embellished the facts a bit, but I mean a dude like put a gun up to us and demanded us to give him cash." 

"For damages you caused while peeing on the side of the gas station!"  Michael interrupted angrily. He had held his emotions in for too long and they were starting to come to a head.  "Ryan, your mother and I were worried sick about you!  Do you know how that made me feel?  To think my boyfriend had been attacked in the streets of Rio, and then to find out that he'd made the whole thing up?!" 

"I didn't make it all up!  There was a gun and we were demanded to give money!" 

"Bullshit!"  Michael slammed his fist on the table, feeling his temper once again rise.  "Just answer me this, Ryan.  And really think about what you're going to say here.  I want to now, once and for all.  Were you robbed or not?" 

He looked at Ryan through his immaculate screen, and Ryan looked back at him.  After a silence long enough to make him think the app might have frozen, the other man finally responded.  

"I don't know." 

Michael blinked

“You don't know?  _You don’t know_?  How does one have any lingering questions about whether or not they were robbed?”

Ryan looked down in embarrassment. 

"If you are seriously telling me now that you aren't sure if you were actually robbed,” Michael continued, “then I'm not sure this relationship is going to work.  I think we should take an indefinite break." 

Lochte's mouth opened in shock, waves of confusion and hurt evident in his face.  When he finally spoke, it sounded like he was holding back tears. 

"I worried about the fallout I would face from all of this.  I saw it coming when I lost the Speedo and Ralph Lauren sponsorships.  But I didn't think I'd lose you, too." 

A tear rolled down his cheek. 

"Is there anything I can say that will change your mind?" 

Michael shook his head, now close to tears himself.  

"Then I guess this is goodbye.  For now, at least," Ryan finished.  

"I guess it is," Michael whispered sadly.  "Take care of yourself, Ryan."  

With trembling fingers, he exited the app and placed his iPad back in its case.  He curled up on his side and hugged his pillow close to him, listening to the noise from nearby parties filtering in through his window.  

A small part of him wished that Lochte were at one of those parties, and that he had been with him, celebrating the end of another successful Olympic season together.  Instead, he found himself alone in his hotel room, with nothing but his gold medals to comfort him.

With nothing to do but try and tune out the scattered sounds of revelry, and feeling in no mood to join his teammates in the festivities, he found himself drifting off into a gloomy, restless sleep.  

He couldn’t have known it then, but he wouldn’t stay asleep for long.  Because in several short moments, a lost Jamaican sprinter would come barreling down the hallway, knock on his door, and in so doing change the direction of his love life forever.  


End file.
